


Litost

by Zoejoy24



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beating, Forced Orgasm, Fuck Or Die, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Kidnapping, M/M, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Minor Character Death, Mutual Non-Con, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Unconscious Sex, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: Based on a prompt from the Prodigal SonKink Meme.Gil and Malcolm are captured and tortured by a vengeful ex-con who wants to make Gil pay for putting him away.  When their captors tire of their usual abuse, they threaten to rape Malcolm.  Gil steps in and offers himself, willing to do whatever he has to to keep them away from Malcolm.He's expecting to take Malcolm's place.  He is not expecting to take their captor's place, with some added stipulations thrown in to the mix.Or, Gil is forced to rape Malcolm, or watch as Malcolm is killed in front of him.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 26
Kudos: 118
Collections: Prodigal Son Kink Meme





	Litost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ToriCeratops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriCeratops/gifts).



> Please read the tags! They are important.
> 
> The rape in this story is between Gil and Malcolm, but Gil is also being forced, so it's as equally non-consensual for him as it is for Malcolm. I don't think I could write Gil being actually evil and truly raping Malcolm. Writing this was hard enough. Poor babies. They have a rough time here. You are warned.

**Litost** : A state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of one's own misery

***

It's been 72 hours. 

Only three days, but they’ve been the longest three days of his life.

Three days since Gil had been ambushed outside of his apartment by Terrance Holt--one of the most violent criminals Gil had ever put behind bars--who’d been released early on a technicality that no one had told Gil about. 

Three days that Holt and his cronies had had Gil at their mercy. 

Gil, and Malcolm. 

They’d gotten their hands on Malcolm, too, because Malcolm had gone home with Gil that night to have dinner. Because Gil had practically begged the kid, because it was the anniversary of Jackie’s death, and he didn’t want to be alone, and neither had Malcolm. Because Gil had been distracted--by memories of Jackie and by the man in the seat next to him--and he hadn’t been paying attention. 

He hadn’t noticed that anything was off, that his street was darker than usual, that a van had turned onto his street after them and followed them up the road. He hadn’t reacted quickly enough, hadn’t warned Bright fast enough. They weren’t expecting Malcolm to be there, hadn’t been entirely prepared to grab him, too. He could have gotten away if Gil hadn’t been off his game.

Three days of torment. Three days of neglect and abuse. 

The first day had consisted solely of beatings. They’d tied Gil to a chair and beat the shit out of him, slowly. All day, coming back again and again. He’d passed out a couple of times, and when he’d come too they’d start in on him again.

The first day they barely touched Malcolm. Holt’s vengeful rage was focused solely on the cop who’d put him behind bars for seven years. They’d tied Malcolm’s hands behind him and his ankles together, thrown a hood over his head and dumped him in a corner of the room. Gil suspected he might be gagged, too, cause the kid was unnaturally quiet. He was alive, though, and that’s what mattered. He’d shift and squirm, flinch whenever Gil cried out or groaned particularly loudly. 

Then, Gil had ruined that, too. One of the thugs had walked past Malcolm and casually lashed out at him, like he was bored, kicking him in the stomach. Bright had curled in on himself and made a choked, ragged noise that had cut straight to Gil’s heart. He’d reacted without thinking, pulling against his bounds and screaming at the man to leave Bright alone.

All activity in the room ceased for a brief, gut-wrenching moment as the men who were gathered there looked in surprise between Gil and Malcolm, as if they were suddenly putting two and two together, and coming up with four. As they realized that Malcolm was important to Gil, and that seeing Malcolm hurt was just as torturous for Gil as it was being hurt himself. The only blessing was that Holt himself wasn’t there at the time to see Gil’s display and react to it himself.

The thugs who were there descended on Malcolm like sharks to chum, pulling him up roughly, dragging him over to a second chair that someone had pulled up in front of Gil’s and forcing him down into it, securing his hands and ankles to the chair before yanking off the hood.

He was gagged, as Gil had suspected, spit dripping down the corners of his chin, jaw working against the wad of fabric wedged between his teeth. Malcolm blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the bright florescent lighting in the room after being covered for hours, head turning wildly until his eyes finally focused on Gil in front of him. 

“Kid, I’m so sorry,” Gil managed to grit out, only to receive a hard backhand across the face in response. Malcolm pulled against his restraints in response to the slap, seething anger clear in his eyes and the harsh breaths he was taking through his nose.

“Shut up, copper. This isn’t about you right now, it’s about your little friend here. What’s your name, boy?” one of the thugs asked.

Malcolm glared up at him defiantly, obviously unable to answer, although Gil knew him well enough to know that he probably wouldn’t have anyways. The thug just smiled down at him mockingly.

“Come on kid, don’t know your own name?” the man taunted, smile growing wider as he waited for an answer he knew wasn’t coming.

After a few moments more he struck out, punching Malcolm hard in the stomach. Malcolm doubled over as far as his bound hands would allow and Gil could hear him struggling the woosh of air leaving his body even through the gag. Gil grit his teeth, refusing to give them any more fuel to use against him or Malcolm. The thug removed the gag, grabbed Malcolm’s hair and pulled him upright, and repeated his question a third time.

“Malcolm,” he gasped out, voice raspy from disuse. “Malcolm Bright.”

“See now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” the thug asked, releasing his hold on Bright’s hair to pat him mockingly on the cheek, smiling all the while like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Malcolm remained silent, keeping his eyes fixed on Gil and refusing to respond to the taunt.

The thug lashed out once more, punching him in the stomach a second time and following it up with an open-handed strike across Malcolm’s face. Gil grit his teeth, body tensing in anger and frustration.

The rest of the evening went in much the same way, the men switching between tormenting Gil and Malcolm until they finally grew bored or tired and began to drift away. Finally, they were pulled from their chairs and Gil was led one way while Malcolm was pulled in the other. 

“Where are you taking him?” Gil demanded, straining to look over his shoulder to see where Malcolm was being led. 

A sharp jerk of his arm pulled him forward once more and nearly sent him sprawling.

“You’ll see him in the morning, don’t worry. No way we’re going to get rid of him now that we know how much more fun it is to play with both of you.”

Gil grit his teeth, seething inwardly as the helpless rage that had been building throughout the day threatened to spill out. It took all of his control not to lash out, knowing that it would only make things worse for both him and Malcolm. And he’d done enough to hurt Malcolm already.

He’s led to a room that’s little more than a closet, windowless with one door. There’s a bucket in one corner and a bottle of water sitting on the floor. They shove him in and slam the door shut behind him, leaving him in near total darkness. He drinks half of the water in one go, saving the rest to sip at throughout the night and makes use of the bucket before sinking to the floor and settling into an uneasy sleep.

***

The second day is a blur of pain and helpless anger, far worse than the first. 

Worse, because they include Malcolm now, use the two men against each other to amplify the pain. Worse, because with Holt present and aware of Malcolm’s imprtance to Gil, the beatings evolve into true torture. Holt’s main focus is still making Gil suffer, but as soon as he becomes aware of Malcolm’s significance he gladly turns his attention to the younger man instead, and Gil is primarily left alone to watch while Malcolm is abused. 

Holt is--creative. He clearly intends on keeping both of them alive for some time, none of his abuse is life threatening. When they cut Malcolm, it's with shallow cuts that hurt but don’t bleed too much. The beatings are harsh, but not fatally so, although long term brain damage isn’t off the table. 

On the second day, Malcolm takes the brunt of the abuse and Gil is left on the sidelines, an impotent bystander. He tries to keep his reactions in check, tries not to give anything more away. Holt watches him constantly, cataloging every response to each new torment they inflict on Malcolm. Gil thinks that maybe, if he can keep himself in check than Holt will grow bored, will turn his attentions back to Gil. But his control slips as the day goes on, as Malcolm begins to cry out more, to succumb to the hours of pain, the lack of food and water and sleep wearing down on both of them as well.

They’re never left alone together, never given the chance to talk to each other, and when they try they're both swiftly punished for it.

Finally it ends. They’re separated once more at the end of the day, led away to their perspective cells. This time, Holt himself leads Gil to his room, pushes him in before filling the doorway, standing over him with a leer.

“That boy of yours is something special, Arroyo. I can see why he means so much to you. He’s a fighter, tough to break. I think we can do it though, you and I. Tomorrow, Arroyo. I’m looking forward to it.”

And with that he leaves, locking Gil in, leaving him with his own thoughts about what Holt could possibly have planned for them next. He tries not to think about it, tries not to dwell on the fact that Holt plans on using him to break Malcolm. He doesn’t doubt that Holt could do it, the man is sick, violent, taking pleasure from the suffering of those around him.

He’s so caught up in thinking about Holt’s threat that its not until he’s almost asleep that he realizes there was no water bottle left behind this time.

***

By day three the abuse is really starting to take its toll. Gil’s whole body aches, he’s weak from lack of food and more thirsty than he ever remembers being. When they pull him out of his cell he stumbles, nearly falling to the ground.

Malcolm’s already there in the room when Gil gets there. He’s seated in a chair but his hands and ankles are free. Holt is behind him, looming over him with a hand on each shoulder. When Gil walks in Holt leans over, digs his fingers into Malcolm’s shoulders and starts whispering something into his ear. Malcolm tenses, eyes going wide in a terrified expression that Gil can’t quite place as Holt taunts him.

Holt straightens and slaps Malcolm on the shoulder before sauntering over to Gil.

“How are we this morning, Arroyo?”

“Thirsty,” Gil responds, though he can barely get the word out past the dryness in his throat and mouth.

“I was hoping you might say that. I’ve got a game for us to play. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“What sort of game?” Gil rasps out, knowing already that whatever Holt has planned isn’t going to be pleasant and that the odds are going to be stacked against them from the start.

“It's simple. You’re going to fight for what you want. Last man standing is the winner, winner gets to pick their prize.”

“Last man standing? I’m not killing anyone, not over a bottle of water,” Gil protests.

“Oh please, Arroyo,” Holt replies, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I mean it literally. Knock out, TKO, whatever you want to do to ensure your opponent doesn’t stand back up. I’m not trying to kill you, yet, and I don’t want you killing my men, either.”

Gil relaxes at that, looks around the room at his possible opponents, than at Malcolm.

The kid is struggling, he can tell. They need water, at least, if they’re going to survive much longer. Malcolm’s still in the chair but he looks like he could fall over at any moment, his eyes are glassy and unfocused and Gil’s not sure if he’s even aware of the conversation that’s taking place.

“Fine. I’ll play your game.”

Holt lets out a whoop of excitement and calls his thugs to gather around. They form a loose circle in the center of the ring, dragging Malcolm and Gil over to stand on the edge.

Gil steps into the makeshift ring and centers himself, settles his feet shoulder width apart and waits for his opponent to step forward. He half expects it to be Holt, but instead a younger man with a good 3 inches and at least 50 pounds of muscle on him steps forward eagerly, a cocky grin on his face.

The other man takes up a fighter's stance, hands raised and he bounces on his toes a couple times. Gil looks the kid over, sizing him up and noting the way he holds himself, where he places his weight and the position of his hands. They’re all tells that Gil has learned to read over a lifetime of training and real world fights, and even though he’s at a disadvantage physically, weak and tired, he thinks he might have a chance to take the kid, if he’s careful, and if he’s lucky.

Holt yells out a countdown and the fight begins.

The kid is cocky and overly sure of himself. Gil let’s him strike first, goes on the defensive long enough to get a feel for the kid before making his move.

It doesn’t take long after that. He gets in several solid punches, one to the body but most to the head. The kid lands one solid blow that nearly sends Gil to the floor but in doing so he overreaches and Gil recovers, takes the opening and lands a punch that lays the kid out flat.

There’s a stunned silence throughout the room before Holt steps forward and begins a dramatic, slow clap.

“I’m impressed, Arroyo. I suppose I underestimated you. I can assure you that won’t happen again. But, you won fair and square. What do you want?”

“Water,” Gil replies shakily. He’s breathing hard, even the short fight having taken more energy than it normally would have. 

He’s on the verge of collapsing but he pushes through, refusing to show weakness. 

Holt nods and soon Gil’s being handed a bottle of water. He takes it eagerly, gets the cap off in record time and barely keeps himself from downing it all in one go. He takes a couple of sips before realizing that Malcolm hadn’t been given a bottle of his own.

“Malcolm, too,” he says, turning back to Holt.

“Oh no, Arroyo, I’m afraid that’s not how this game works. Malcolm has to play the game and win his own water.”

Gil clenches his teeth and barely stops himself from squeezing the open bottle in his hand.

“He can have mine,” Gil insists, stepping forward to hand the bottle to Bright.

Holt grabs his arm and pulls him back with a jerk.

“No, he can’t. You’ll drink it, or no one will. Now, it’s Malcolm’s turn to fight.”

Gil is pulled back to stand on the edge of the ring, held in place by a firm hand wrapped around his bicep. He’s furious and afraid for Malcolm. He feels terrible drinking when Malcolm still has nothing, but he needs water if he’s going to keep going, so he takes a few more cautious sips before replacing the lid.

Malcolm is pushed out into the center of the ring and he nearly falls to his knees before the fight even begins but he catches himself, pulls himself up and takes several calming breaths as he looks around the circle warily, waiting for his opponent to step up.

Gil’s heart begins to beat faster and he struggles to keep his breathing slow and even as panic threatens to overtake him. He reminds himself that Malcolm isn’t helpless, that he has combat training, too. That’s he knows what he’s doing and can handle himself. If Malcolm’s opponent is another cocky kid like Gil’s was then there’s no reason why Malcolm can’t win this, too.

Then Holt steps forward into the ring, and Gil’s heart plummets down into his stomach. He knows that Holt won’t make any mistakes and that he’s in the fight to win it.

Malcolm settles into a solid stance and faces Holt head on. It’s clear that he’s struggling already, far more than Gil had been, but the kid has always been stubborn as hell and never backed down from a challenge. He stands still, staring Holt down as the other man paces in front of him.

“This is going to be fun, I can tell already,” Holt says, grinning widely in the face of Malcolm’s resolve. 

There’s no countdown this time, the fight begins when Holt makes the first move, striking fast with a well controlled punch aimed at Malcolm’s head. Malcolm dodges back, knocking Holt’s hand away and side-stepping clumsily. He throws a punch of his own and Holt hunches, catching it on his shoulder easily, his smile widening as he brushes it off like it was nothing. 

They move around each other for a few moments longer, Holt bouncing from foot to foot, throwing a punch here and there, while Malcolm moves as little as possible, conserving his energy. 

It becomes clear that Holt is playing with Malcolm, dragging the fight out to wear him down even more. Gil watches intently throughout the fight and he finds himself holding his breath as he holds onto the hope that Malcolm can outsmart the other man and find the opening he needs to be victorious. Malcolm holds his own and nearly sends Holt sprawling when he lands a quick kick to the back of Holt’s knee. Holt recovers easily, but he’s clearly surprised, and though he maintains his gleeful smile his eyes take on a hard edge. He stops playing with Malcolm after that, and the fighting begins in earnest. 

Holt lands several hits in a row, all aimed at Malcolm’s body, intended to hurt and weaken him but not yet knocking him out. Malcolm’s responses grow slower and he struggles for each breath, and Gil knows that, barring a miracle, the fight is over. Holt gets in his own strike against Malcolm’s leg and Malcolm crumbles, dropping to one knee and barely managing to catch himself on one before he ends up flat on his face. 

Gil’s breath catches in his throat as he watches Malcolm, sees the fear in his eyes as he looks up at Holt, eyes wide and panicked as Holt beams down at him before kicking him hard across the face and sending him sprawling to the floor. 

Gil gasps out Malcolm’s name and surges forward towards his limp body, only to be caught and held back by the men next to him.

“Let me go!” he screams, fighting hard against the hands that are holding him back until he’s forced down to one knee, held nearly immobile by three sets of hands. He watches, helpless--always so fucking helpless--as Holt circles Malcolm’s body triumphantly, staring down at him with a predatory grin that makes Gil’s stomach churn. Holt gives Malcolm’s shoulder a non-to-gentle nudge with the tip of his shoe, pushing him till he’s lying face down, then kneels next to him, pulling a zip tie from a pocket and securing Malcolm’s hands behind his back.

“Holt, what are you doing?” Gil asks, voice edged in uncertainty.

“I won, fair and square, and I’ve decided that my prize is Malcolm,” Holt answers glibly, shooting Gil a quick, feral grin before turning his attention back to the body in front of him.

“What?” Gil hisses, his mind racing. He knew Holt was violent and sadistic, but the man had never been cast as a rapist before.

Holt runs a hand along Malcolm’s flank till he reaches the hem of Malcolm’s shirt, slips his hand beneath the fabric and runs his hand over the skin there before dipping his fingers into the waistband of his pants.

“Holt, don’t fucking touch him. I swear to god, I’ll kill you,” Gil cries out, attempting to lunge forward once more, only to be jerked back hard enough that he ends up sprawled on his ass.

“Holt, stop, please. This is about me, it’s all been about me, right? You don’t care about him, I know you don’t. So hurt me, do whatever you want to me, but leave him alone,” Gil pleads desperately.

Holt stops his movements, hand resting just above the swell of Malcolm’s ass.

“What did you say, Arroyo?” he asks, turning to face Gil fully.

“Take me. Hurt me. I’ll do anything you want. Just leave Malcolm alone.  _ Please _ ,” he begs.

“You want me to leave Malcolm alone? You’ll do anything, to keep me from touching him, from fucking him?”

“Anything,” Gil swears, and he means it. Malcolm’s suffered enough because of Gil’s mistakes and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep him from suffering anymore and especially from suffering this.

“Fine,” Holt agrees, rising to stand once more, and Gil lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relief and resignation crashing over him as Holt makes his way towards him.

Holt crouches in front of him so he can look Gil dead in the eye. 

“Then you’ll do it,” he whispers.

Gil freezes, feeling like he’s been punched in the stomach, the air rushing from his lungs.

“What?” he chokes out.

“You heard me, Arroyo. If you don’t want me to rape your boy right in front of you, then you’ll do it instead,” Holt replies, deadly serious for the first time that day.

Gil shakes his head slowly in disbelief, struggling to form a response to Holt's suggestion.

“I can’t do that,” Gil whispers in desperation. “Me, take me,” he begs quietly, though deep down he knows that it isn’t going to work, and that Holt has already made his decision.

“Oh, Gil. I don’t want you. Truth be told, I don’t even want Malcolm. What I want is for you to suffer, like I did. And the best way to do that is to make your boy there suffer. I told you we were going to break him, Arroyo. Remember?”

Gil doesn’t respond, too shocked, mind reeling as he struggles to come to terms with the decision before him.

“Time’s up, Arroyo. Make a choice. Me, or you? There are no other options.”

“Me,” Gil whispers. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

Holt’s smile returns and he stands, clapping his hands together gleefully.

“Oh, this is going to be good. Stand him up, boys. Let’s get this show started.”

Gil is lifted to his feet and shoved towards Malcolm. He takes a few stumbling steps before his brain catches up with his body and he gets his feet under him.

“There are some stipulations,” Holt adds, approaching Gil and slapping him on the shoulder like he’s an old friend.

“Stipulations?” Gil grounds out.

“You can’t speak. Not a word. You can make as any other noises as you’d like, I’m sure we’d all like to hear them. But say anything at all, and I’ll kill him while you’re still inside of him. Also, you have to finish. Both of you.”

“Both?” Gil repeats dumbly.

“Both of you. Make him come first, and finish inside of him. Or I’ll kill him. Do you understand?”

“I’m going to kill you, Holt,” Gil grits out in reply.

He doesn’t know how, doesn’t care that he’s a cop. He swears to himself there and then that he’ll kill Holt for this, make him and pay and ensure that he never hurts another soul again.

“I’m sure,” Holt replies, clearly unconcerned. He pats Gil on the cheek like a child then steps over to where Malcolm is laying, still unconscious and unresponsive. 

He pulls a strip of dark fabric from his back pocket and bends down to fasten it over Malcolm’s eyes, blindfolding him.

“He’s all yours, Arroyo. Enjoy. He’s not really my type, but I have to say, I can see the appeal,” Holt says with a leer, ruffling Malcolm’s hair before he stands.

Gil snarls but Holt just laughs, backing away with both hands raised in surrender.

Gil looks down at Malcolm’s prone form and is hit with the reality of what he’s agreed to do. For a moment he wonders if he’ll even be able to...  _ perform _ appropriately to meet Holt’s demands. He takes a deep breath and does his best to block everything out until he’s focused only on himself and Malcolm.

In truth, the real struggle he faces lies in the fact that he’s wanted Malcolm for a while. Not like this,  _ never _ like this. But since Bright came back to New York they’ve grown closer than ever before. The kid who left for the FBI 10 years ago returned a full grown man. A highly competent and extremely attractive man who soaks up Gil’s attention like a sponge, leaning into each touch, always staying just inside Gil’s personal space. They’ve never talked about it, Gil doesn’t even know if the kid likes men, though he has his suspicions, and it's likely that Malcolm has no idea about Gil’s own leanings. But still, Gil wants him.

Deep down he knows that he’s not worried about finding a way to enjoy this enough to perform, he’s afraid he’ll enjoy it too much. Afraid that once the physical act begins his body will betray him, and he doesn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive himself if he actually enjoys this. Enjoys raping Malcolm.

“Let’s go, Arroyo. You’re overthinking this. I know you know how to fuck. Unless you’re waiting for him to wake up?”

Holt’s taunts pull Gil from his thoughts with a jolt. He glares at the other man, wishing looks could kill. Holt’s right though, if he can finish the job while Malcolm’s unconscious at least the kid won’t know what’s happening. It’s horrible, but Gil doesn’t want to have to think about having to hold the kid down, having to actually force himself on an actively struggling Malcolm.

He empties his mind, doing his best to let biology take over, to feel without thinking as he sinks to his knees besides Malcolm. He pulls Malcolm’s pants down to mid-thigh before gripping Malcolm's ass, spreading his cheeks open to reveal the ring of muscle at Malcolm’s entrance. He tries not to think about how firm the globes of Malcolm’s ass are beneath his hands, how well they fit in his hands, how perfect he is…

Gil shakes himself, pushes the thoughts away and presses the tip of one finger into Maloclm’s entrance, testing the give there, and even unconscious Malcolm is tight. Gil wets his fingers with water from the bottle he still has with him, pouring a small amount over Malcolm’s hole as well. Then he pushes in, begins to prepare Malcolm as best he can. He refuses to do this dry or without preparation, refuses to risk hurting Malcolm physically on top of the mental and emotional damage they're both going to be stuck with after this. 

“Really, is that necessary?” Holt calls from somewhere to the side of him. 

Gil ignores him, clenches his jaw as he remembers Holt’s order not to speak. He has no doubt that the man will follow through on his threat to kill Malcolm if Gil doesn’t meet all of his  _ stipulations _ .

Gil takes his time, slips in a second finger, using more water to ease the way. It's not ideal as a lubricant but it's better than nothing. As he works Malcolm open with his fingers, pumping in slowly a few times before scissoring them back and forth, he finds himself getting lost in the feel of it. He’s tired,  _ so tired _ , his body beat down, metally exhausted from being constantly on guard, from lack of sleep and food. His mind begins to wander as he loses himself in the feel of Malcolm beneath him, stretched around his fingers and he thinks of how good this could be if…

Gil catches himself, slamming on mental brakes before he allows that train of thought to go any further. He can feel the stirrings of arousal low in his belly already, and while he knows he’ll have to get there eventually he refuses to dwell on the pleasure he’ll be taking from Malcolm’s body any longer than necessary, refuses to take unnecessary advantage of this situation for his own benefit in any way. 

When his third finger slides in easily next to the first two he realizes that it’s time, there’s no more delaying the inevitable. He slides his own pants off and then fists himself, spitting into his own hand and working himself to hardness mechanically, thinking of anything and everything that he needs too in order to get himself hard without thinking about Malcolm. 

He can hear voices, taunts and scoffing laughter filling the air around him as he strips and touches himself but he pushes them aside till it's nothing but background noise, unintelligible and unimportant. 

Despite the distraction, it doesn’t take long until he’s fully hard and heavy in his own hand, and he realizes it’s time. He moves forward mindlessly, operating on biological instinct alone as he straddles Malcolm’s legs, slicks himself up with spit and water once more and lines himself up. He presses the tip of his cock against Malcolm’s entrance and freezes, his mind suddenly racing with the enormity of what he’s about to do as a sudden surge of panic threatens to consume him. He even starts to soften as his mind wars with his body but he pushes down on the surge of emotions and presses in, past the still so tight ring of muscle and into the clenching heat of Malcolm’s body. 

He moves slowly, pulling out almost all the way before pushing in once more, going a little further each time till he’s fully seated inside of Malcolm’s body. He drops his head to rest between Malcolm’s shoulder blades for one brief moment as he allows himself to relax and get lost in the pure physical sensations of being buried deep inside a warm body. He keeps his eyes down, doesn’t let himself think of the body below him--stretched tight around him--as Malcolm. 

It’s just a body, just a hole to fuck, just a task to accomplish. 

He starts to move, shallow thrusts at first, letting Malcolm’s body adjust around him. Soon though he’s setting a quick pace, fucking in just the way he likes it, chasing his release as quickly and mindlessly as possible. 

And then he remembers Holt’s third stipulation and his rhythm stutters, his movements faltering before he stills altogether as he realizes that he has to get Malcolm off, too. Has to make his body feel good enough that he comes first.

He nearly curses aloud, barely catches himself in time, the words escaping in a seething hiss instead as he considers his options. He lowers himself down on his side, palming Malcolm’s hip and guiding his body back along with him till he’s on his side, too, leaving room for Gil to slip his hand around to Malcolm’s front and take him in hand.

He’s surprised to find Malcolm half hard already, the stimulation from being fucked enough to cause arousal even while unconscious. In a deep, dark corner of Gil’s mind he feels a sudden thrill at knowing he’d elicited such a response from Malcolm’s body without even trying. He pushes the thought away almost as quickly as it arises and focuses on the literal task on hand, working Malcolm to hardness easily with just a few firm strokes. It should be quick and easy, Malcolm’s body responds to the stimulation easily as Gil continues to rock gently into him while bringing him off with his hand.

Then Malcolm begins to stir, a breathy moan escaping between his lips as his hips begin to move in tandem with Gil’s movements. He groans once more, growing even harder, his cock throbbing in Gil’s hand and Gil quickens the pace of his strokes, desperate to make Malcolm come before he returns to full consciousness.

He can’t see Malcolm’s eyes but it’s clear when he wakes. He stills, his whole body tensing, his breath catching audibly in his throat and Gil can only imagine what he must be feeling, how his mind must be racing as he wakes to find himself in this position--an unknown man fucking him, a hand wrapped around him, jerking him off roughly, desperate to make him come.

Malcolm begins to soften in his hand and Gil squeezes him tightly, horror and disgust filling him even as he begins to stroke Malcolm’s cock once more, grip tight as he forces a response from Malcolm’s body.

“Stop, god, please stop,” Malcolm gasps out beneath him. 

He begins to struggle, twisting beneath Gil as he tries to escape his grip, tightening around Gil where he’s still buried balls deep in his ass.

“Shit, shit stop. I don’t… please…  _ don’t _ ,” Malcolm begs, voice breaking on the last pleaded word.

Not being able to talk means Gil can’t comfort Malcolm or try to settle him, he can’t explain the situation, tell him that he’s doing this to save his life.

Gil’s never hated himself more than he does in the following moments. He leans into Malcolm and rests his weight against him, wraps his left hand around Malcolm’s opposite shoulder and rests his forearm against his upper back to keep him pinned against the floor. Malcolm cries out in frustration as Gil pins him down and tries again to throw him off, jerking beneath Gil in a final, futile attempt to free himself. 

To his own shame Gil realizes that Malcolm’s struggles--the way he’s shifting against Gil and tightening around him--are keeping him aroused rather than deterring him. He finds himself rutting against Malcolm, hips moving in small circles, body instinctively seeking out more friction. 

“Please, no. No more. Don’t touch me, I don’t want this,” Malcolm pleads. “I don’t want this, let me go.”

Gil can feel tears forming in the edges of his own eyes at Malcolm’s desperate words because he can’t stop and he can’t tell him why.

He strips Malcolm’s cock faster, keeps his grip firm but not enough to hurt, twists his wrist and swipes a thumb over the tip, does whatever he can to bring Malcolm off as fast as he can. He begins to thrust shallowly into him once more, shifting, changing the angle until he hears Malcolm’s breath hitch, feels him shiver as unwanted pleasure spikes through him, and he knows he’s found what he’s looking for. 

Gil fucks into him with a quick, steady rhythm and does his best to hit that spot with each thrust. Malcolm whimpers beneath him once, quiet ‘ah’ sounds escaping him with each exhale and finally, mercifully Gil feels him tense beneath him, cock pulsing in his hand and Malcolm comes with a choked off cry that turns into a broken sob as his body betrays him. 

The sound cuts into Gil like a knife and he lets out a low, guttural groan of his own, filled frustration at being so helpless, with anger, and with  _ pleasure _ as Malcolm’s body clenches around him as he comes, and Gil hates himself even more for it but it feels  _ so good _ . 

He realizes he’s close now, too, so  _ fucking _ close to finishing and suddenly he can think of nothing else, wants this all to be over as quickly as possible. Malcolm is shaking beneath him, sobbing quietly even as he tries to catch his breath after his orgasm. Gil shifts Malcolm back over so he’s flat on his front once more, plants one hand between his shoulder blades to keep him still and grips his hip tight with the other then starts to fuck him in earnest, desperately chasing his own release.

Malcolm’s quiet beneath him, no longer sobbing, though he does let out an occasional tiny, aborted moan as Gil thrusts into him. He doesn’t struggle, either, though Gil can feel his fingers as they clench and unclench against his stomach, occasionally pushing feebly against him when he thrusts a little too deep or too hard. He doesn’t want to hurt Malcolm, he’s trying so hard not to be too rough, but he isn’t holding back, either. He needs this to be over. 

It doesn’t take long for the pressure in his belly to build and finally crescendo into a climax. Gil moans in relief and pleasure as his body tenses and he spills into Malcolm, collapsing on top of the smaller man before he can catch himself, dropping his head onto Malcolm’s shoulder as his orgasm washes over him. 

He lays still for a moment as he recovers, feels Malcolm shudder beneath him as he pants into his shoulder, and for the first time Gil lets himself look up at Malcolm’s face, sees how flushed he is still, and the tracks from tears that have escaped from beneath the blindfold. Before Gil even realizes what his own body is doing he’s leaning in, wrapping his hand around the juncture of Malcolm’s neck and shoulder as he’s done so many times, caressing the skin just below his hairline with a soft stroke of his thumb and planting a gentle kiss to the back of Malcolm’s neck, just below his ear.

Malcolm freezes beneath him, mouth open wide in shock. 

“ _ G-gil _ ?” he whispers, voice breaking, that single syllable laced with confusion and so much anguish that Gil feels the force of it like a blow.

Suddenly it's all too much and his body rebels against him. He wrenches himself up and off of Malcolm, barely manages to drag himself a few feet away before he starts to heave, though there’s little to nothing left in his stomach. He recovers, wiping a hand across the back of his mouth, and catches sight of his pants. He grabs them and is in the process of pulling them back on when Holt begins to clap enthusiastically.

“What a show!” he exclaims, coming to stand beside Gil. “I must say, I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you could do it, but I suppose anything is possible when you set your mind to it? You can talk now, if you’d like.”

Holt smiles throughout his exclamation, sickeningly pleased with himself and the situation he’d created. Gil doesn’t reply but he watches him warily, especially when Holt begins to walk towards where Malcolm is laying, curled on his side in a ball where Gil had left him only moments before.

Holt squats down behind Malcolm and pulls the blindfold off in a flourish. Malcolm jerks his head away, eyes blinking rapidly as they adjust to the light once more and to dispel the tears that are still caught in his lashes and the corners of his eyes. He glances around wildly, clearly searching for Gil, but he’s behind him still, too, out of his line of sight and he’s grateful, doesn’t know if he can face Malcolm yet. If he’ll ever be able to again.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful when you cry?” Holt croons, leaning over Malcolm to brush a tear away from his cheek, the movement perversely gentle and soothing.

Malcolm turns his head away with a snarl, and Holt tuts but seems nonplussed and his gaze starts to wander, slides slowly over Malcolm’s body till it comes to rest on his still bare ass.

“I quite enjoyed watching Arroyo fuck you, Malcolm, I won’t lie,” he says slowly, almost contemplatively.

Gil squeezes his eyes shut when Holt says his name, but not before he sees Malcolm’s own reaction, the way he gasps in shock, eyes going wide at the confirmation of what he’d clearly suspected after Gil had treated him so tenderly--so foolishly--after finishing.

“I know I said I didn't really want you, but that display may have changed my mind,” Holt continues and Gil realizes with horror what Holt intends to do. 

He lunges forward with a snarl only to come face to face with the barrel of a pistol as one of the thugs steps in to intercept him.

Holt sinks to his knees and runs a hand along Malcolm’s side, over his bare hip and the back of his thigh. Malcolm sobs, tries to turn away from the touch but Holt stops him easily, grabs him by the arm and jerks him back into place as he continues his exploration of Malcolm’s body. 

Malcolm’s struggles intensify as he squirms and twists away from Holt’s touch, cursing and snarling as he pulls against the grip on his arm.

“Stop fucking moving,” Holt orders and then he swats him hard on the ass, the sound echoing throughout the room and drawing taunting laughs from the gathered men. Malcolm cries out, shocked into stillness by the blow and the sudden reminder that he’s  _ on display _ , has been this whole time. 

“Holt, you agreed! I did what you told me to do. Leave him alone!” Gil yells, furious and desperate to find some way to save Malcolm from the man’s attentions and further abuse.

Malcolm sucks in a breath at the sound of Gil’s voice and rolls towards him, twisting his head to try to meet his eyes.

“Gil, Gil please, I can’t…” he calls out desperately.

Holt let’s him roll, pulls him over so he’s facing Gil and drags him up onto his knees, shifting so he’s behind Malcolm once more and they’re both facing Gil--and the rest of the gathered men--head on. He wraps one hand around Malcolm’s throat, pressing his thumb into the soft skin below his chin and forcing Malcolm’s head back onto his shoulder, his other hand moving back and forth over Malcolm’s flank, from the bottom of his ribs down to mid-thigh and back up again, over and over.

“You wanna watch this time, Arroyo?” he taunts. “I bet you’ll enjoy it. You sure enjoyed him the first time, and he seemed to enjoy you, too. Will you come for me, too, Malcolm?”

Malcolm let’s out a choked sob, head twisting back and forth on Holt’s shoulder.

“Fuck you, fuck you, you  _ bastard _ . Don’t fucking touch me,” he hisses out and though the words are bold his voice is hallow and nearly broken.

“Holt, I swear to god I’ll kill you, I’ll make you pay for this,” Gil growls, deadly earnest as he stares Holt down, pulling desperately against the hands that are holding him back. 

He can’t do this, can’t sit by and watch Holt touch Malcolm, rape him  _ again _ . Even with a gun in his face his mind is racing with options and possibilities and an almost overwhelming, animalistic urge to strangle Holt with his bare hands, and if it means getting shot in the process then so be it.

Holt begins to work at his own belt and fly and Gil screams out curses and threats when he pulls himself free of his pants. Holt pulls Malcolm firmly against him until there’s no space between their bodies, rubs himself against Malcolm’s bare ass and Malcolm whimpers when the tip of Holt’s cock catches on the rim of his already loosened hole, a dark promise of what’s to come. Malcolm’s eyes are screwed shut, his chest rising and falling rapidly as panic begins to set in.

“Maybe I’ll let everyone else have a go with you when I’m done. Pass you around like a toy, a treat. Reward them for good behavior. Let them use you up then get rid of you when they’re done. I’ll make sure Gil’s there to see it all,” Holt stage whispers into Malcolm’s ear, loud enough that Gil can hear each and every word. 

Malcolm shudders, then lets out a pitiful, keening cry as Holt begins to push into his body.

A deafening  _ bang _ booms out through the room suddenly, followed by the sound of glass shattering, and chaos erupts. Gil recognizes the sound of the smoke bombs hitting the floor and the smoke beginning to hiss out before he even sees them and he nearly collapses in relief as he realizes they’ve been found. He recovers quickly, though, acting fast to ensure they don’t end up in a hostage situation instead.

The thugs around him are distracted, their hold on his arms loosened or gone completely in their panic and he uses it to his advantage, lunges forward and grabs the gun that’s still being pointed towards him and drives it back, slamming it into the face of the man who’s holding it. Yelling and gunfire ring out through the room and Gil drops low to the floor, crawls to where Malcolm is lying--where Holt had dropped him the second things started going south--and covers the younger man’s head with his body, ensuring that he stays down and protected as best he can.

It's over in seconds. The shouting and gunfire are replaced by pain-filled moans from the injured and heavy breathing.

“Gil, Bright, you here?” Dani call out, voice cuts through the smoke.

“Over here!” Gil replies as he sits up, cautiously, careful not to move too fast and spook any trigger happy cops.

Malcolm whines softly below him, twisting frantically. 

“Gil, shit. Help me,” he whispers, kicking his legs out slightly, straining to reach back as he curls and uncurls his fingers.

Gil catches on immediately, leans over and pulls Malcolm’s pants up as well as he can before anyone gets close enough to see them through the smoke. Malcolm relaxes slightly, draws his knees up to his chest and drops his head to the floor, eyes falling close.

He doesn't see Dani run up, or the way her eyes widen in realization as she catches sight of Gil’s movements just a moment too soon, the way her face goes hard in silent rage a second later. Gil gives her a silent, pleading look and shakes his head once and she nods in understanding, doesn’t say anything, just hands over a pocket knife.

“Bright, I’m gonna cut the zip tie off, alright? Try to stay still,” Gil murmurs gently.

He waits till Malcolm nods in response before he touches him, gently holds his wrists still before carefully cutting through the hard plastic of the restraints. Malcolm hisses in pain as his wrists are freed, brings his arms around slowly, biting down on a sob as he does so, and rubs his hands together as feeling starts to return to his numb fingers.

“You good?” Dani asks softly.

“We’ll survive,” Gil groans. “Bus on its way?” 

“Medics will be in any second. We just gave them the all clear.”

The smoke has cleared from the room and Gil looks around, surveying the scene, subconsciously seeking out one body in particular, dead or alive.

“Where’s Holt?” he asks suddenly, tensing as he scans the room again, looks closer at each body, injured or just contained.

“Who?”

“Holt, Terrance Holt. The man behind all this, where is he?” Gil demands, staggering to his feet.

“I don’t… I’m not sure,” Dani admits

“No, no he is not getting away, not this time,” Gil growls.

There’s a discarded pistol on the floor a few feet away, probably the one that he’d been threatened with only minutes early, and he reaches down to grab it before stalking towards the door.

“Gil, what are you doing?” Dani demands.

“Stay with Bright, make sure he gets medical attention. I’ll be back.”

“Gil, no! You can’t go after him alone. JT has the area cordoned off, there will be a team in to sweep the building any minute. Gil!” Dani calls out after him but Gil ignores her, walks away without looking back.

“Stay with Bright!” is all he says as he leaves.

There’s only two doors in the room, and Gil heads towards the one that hasn’t been swarming with cops. As soon as he’s in the hallway he sees a blood trail, large drops of blood leading him to his quarry. His heart beats faster, adrenaline coursing through him as he hunts Holt down.

He goes slowly, though, carefully. The rage he’s been feeling for day and his hate for Holt has coalesced into an intense, deadly focus. He follows the drops of blood down the hall until they lead him to a partially closed door. He pushes it open slowly but stays back, pressed against the wall to the side of the doorway in case Holt is armed. He waits a moment, holding his breath and listening closely for any hint of movement from inside the room. He hears nothing and steps in slowly, scanning the room quickly but thoroughly, gun up and at the ready.

The room is dark, light filtering in through a single dirty window high in the wall, but Gil spots Holt immediately. He’s leaning heavily against a cheap plastic chair, one hand gripping tight to his upper leg and Gil can see the blood covering his fingers and dripping down to the floor. There’s a gun on the chair, out of Holt’s immediate reach but it wouldn’t take much for him to grab it. Gil keeps his gun raised, aimed at Holt’s head and his grip is sure and steady. He feels a strange calm settle over him, a sense of finality as he takes a few more cautious steps into the room.

“Well, well, Arroyo. I guess you were right. You’ll get to kill me after all,” Holt chuckles though his voice is tight, face pinched with pain

“Shut up, Holt,” Gil grits out. 

He’s at war with himself, his strongly held belief in the law and his years of being a dedicated officer the only things holding him back from shooting the man where he stands. But if Holt keeps talking he can’t be sure he won’t snap.

“You’ve got me dead to rights, Arroyo. Let me just ask you one thing,” Holt continues glibly, ignoring Gil’s warning.

“I won’t lose a wink of sleep over shooting if, if that’s what you’re wondering. Won’t give it a second thought” Gil assures him, voice steady.

“Oh I don’t doubt that. But tell me truthfully, Gil--will you think about him, again? Remember how good he felt? How tight he--”

Gil fires, the noise of the shot ringing out, shockingly loud in the small space.

His aim is deadly accurate, the head shot killing Holt before he hits the ground.

He hears a sound behind him and whirls, gun still raised. 

Dani stands in the doorway, her eyes wide as she looks at Gil, then the body on the floor.

“Dani. Fuck, Dani I told you to stay with Bright,” Gil mutters, lowering his gun quickly.

“I heard,” she whispers, tearing her eyes from Holt’s body to meet Gil’s eyes. “I heard what he asked you.”

Gil exhales sharply, his mind going blank as the implications of her words wash over him.

“He had a gun,” Dani continues, “I won’t say anything. I understand why.. I know--”

“You  _ don’t _ know. You have no idea what he did--what he made  _ me _ do,” Gil snaps, inexplicably angry in the face of her calm acceptance of the situation.

“ _ Gil _ ,” she continues, her voice soft and full of pity that he can’t bear to face yet.

“Stop. Don’t, just… don’t say anything. It’s done. It’s over. He’s dead, he won’t ever hurt anyone again.”

Dani nods, her expression returning to its usual cool mask of careful indifference.

“Come on, Gil. Bright needs you,” she tells him, beckoning him towards the door.

“He does  _ not _ need  _ me _ ,” Gil says, scoffing, his heart hurting with the knowledge that the kid is never going to want to see him again.

“He does, Gil,” Dani insists, voice firm, stubborn. “He was asking for you,  _ begging _ for you, Gil. That’s why I came after you.”

Gil shakes his head, can’t believe the words she’s saying, that Malcolm would be asking for him.

“How can that be?” he whispers, suddenly so tired, stumbling and nearly collapsing as the weight of the events of the day crash over him. “How can I ever look him in the eye again, knowing what I did to him?”

Dani is there in his space suddenly, holding tight to his shoulders as he sways and looking up at him, concern clear in her eyes.

“Hey, easy Gil. Easy. Look, it’s not going to be easy. You’re both going to have to work through this, separately and together. But the worst thing you can do right now is push him away. Do you hear me?”

Gil nods numbly.

“I’m serious, Gil. You need to be there for him. If you push him away, if you can’t be there for him, that’s what’s going to break him. I know it's hard to believe, but he does need you. You can’t fall apart on him, not yet. Got it?” 

“Yeah,” Gil whispers, lets her words wash over him, lets them sink in and takes them to heart.

He straightens, pulls himself together. It’s not going to be an easy journey, but one thing he knows for sure is that he won’t abandon Malcolm. Whatever Malcolm needs from him, whatever he has to do to fix what’s been broken between them, he’ll do.

They walk back into the main room, Dani staying close, silently supporting him. Malcolm’s on a gurney and as soon as Gil walks in another team of medics heads towards him but he brushes them off, goes straight to Malcolm’s side.

Malcolm watches his approach through half open eyes but as Gil reaches his side he lifts his hand, holds it out to Gil and Gil nearly breaks at the sight, has to bite back on a sob at the gesture. He takes Malcolm’s hand, wraps it gently in both of his own. 

“I was worried,” he slurs out, so quiet Gil can barely hear him.

“I’m okay, kid. Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Malcolm nods, eyes falling shut fully and hand slipping from Gil’s grip as the medics roll him away. 

Gil lets himself be led over to his own gurney, sinks back into it as he finally relaxes, pushes his memories of the past three days and his worries for the future away, holding on only to the memory of the feel of Malcolm's hand in his own. It's the only thing that matters to him now, everything else can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> So it's sort of a happy ending? A hopeful ending? It's a long hard road but they pull through eventually! I wanted to keep this under 10k and I did and that's what really matters.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! If you are enjoying this fic, love Prodigal Son, and are 18+, I'd love for you to come hang out on the brand new [Discord Server](https://discord.gg/6ytNM9jDBf) that SomeRainMustFall and I started! It is open to all ship-positive, kink-positive people who are looking for a space to chat, get to know, and enjoy the show with other fans in a safe and positive environment!
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr [here](http://prodigal-zoe.tumblr.com). I'm always down to scream about the show and the characters!


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